Airport Hijinks & Healthcare Hootenanny

The fact that the word "Airport" is in the title of this post will probably flag some freakishly advanced satellite to start taking high res images of my bald spot.  But it must be done.  Also, I'd like to point out that I don't care if healthcare is one word or two.  This is a little diddy (not about Jack & Diane, as much as I love those kids) about my favorite burning topical ointment, bureaucracy.  Bear with me.  I have a point.

I was at an airport a while back and had to go through customs.  For the most part, the customs procedure was fine.  The airline employees were kind enough to pass out US customs declarations forms (that look a whole lot like this) for us to fill out before we, the people, unloaded the plane and waded our way like a frumpy Chinese dragon winding round and round a path of shiny silvery poles with their cinema style velvet rope dividers waiting to meet our destiny at customs. 

Waiting in line wasn't all that big a deal despite almost 24 hours of airport travel up to this point.  At the end of this lazy congo line was a man.  A man in a hat.  A mysterious man in a hat (let's call him Jack) that controlled the flow of traffic and told people when they were ready to go to a customs station to have their declaration form checked by a customs officer in a booth.  Presently, we came to the beginning of the line.  After quickly looking at the form the airline had given us which was filled out nice and pretty, Jack says, "No, you have the wrong form.  You have to fill out this form."  Really?  I mean, with Lindsay Lohan hitting rock bottom, I just don't know how much I can handle right now.  Thanks Jack.  What was funny about "this form" is that it was exactly the same (word for word and line by line), the SAME as the form we had already filled out except for two MAJOR differences.  One was that his form was an ever so slightly darker shade of blue.  The other was that the form number at the bottom right corner was slightly different, probably to denote that this form and its superior shade of blue keeps America much safer than its paler counterpart, Form 605-9er-letterQ-b12-or-whatevertheheck-version1. 

So, using the coke-can sized top of a silvery pole as my writing desk, I copied what I had written on the first form onto its identical cousin, all while keeping a close eye on my luggage so that no terrorist could slip a mickey into it while I was performing my civic duty.  Made it thru.  Here you go, Jack.  "Okay, head over to booth 9".  Thanks again, Jack.  At booth 9 (or whatever number it was), customs officer says, "Huh, why did you fill out two forms?"  Because I love forms, dude.  I download them and fill them out when I have spare time...when I'm not harping about Jack-In-The-Hat on my blog.  "I wouldn't have even noticed that," says the officer.  I know.  Nor would you have cared unless you too were among the living brain-dead.  But alas, that is not the world we live in.  Zombies with a little bit of authority.  Sorry, Jack-In-The-Hat...I love you like a brother.

In conclusion, I think that's what I want to happen to healthcare.  More government influence.  More bureaucracy.  I want to have trouble in the hospital because the nurse in the lobby had me fill out Form OMGMyHead'sFallingOff-A instead of Form OMGMyHead'sFallingOff-C3.  The point is that this type of thing isn't that big of a deal at the airport or while standing in line at the DMV, but when you are talking about health issues, matters of life and death, there is no room for it.  There is certainly a place for government involvement, especially in the realm of national defense and law enforcement, however, when bureaucracy permeates even the smallest decisions of our daily lives and puts procedure above useful information, we, the people, will certainly be bogged down by it and lose to it every time.